


This Is How You Survive

by knights-and-musketeers (periken)



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, cuteness, minor racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8580265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periken/pseuds/knights-and-musketeers
Summary: Kid Fic AU A young Aramis living in the Court of Miracles witnesses an attempt of theft by another boy. Normally, he'd take advantage and do what any other child of the court would do to survive. Steal and run. But after seeing the boy take a stance against a merchant, Aramis decides to trail the chase that follows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a kid fic before but let me tell you, it's hard to make the dialogue not sound like an adult. :P 
> 
> Regardless, I had fun writing this!

"That's it... keep talkin' a little longer..." Porthos whispers to no one in particular as he keeps the targeted merchant in sight from behind his hiding spot. He scans the area around him, taking note of the movements of each person.

The streets are bustling with lively civilians as any other day. Some are up on scaffoldings, banging away at the buildings with whatever tools are available to them in an attempt to fix up their small district to the best of their abilities. Some wander around the stands set up by merchants - longingly gazing at the food they can't afford. Most people in the streets of the Court of Miracles consists of beggars, convicts, prostitutes, and thieves - who roam the narrow roads not caring for what others think of their methods of survival. Catching young children suspiciously circling a stand or quickly snatching something from the vendor's stall isn't unusual behaviour. It's common to hear angry merchants yelling down the street and chasing after a thief so usually the citizens don't even bat an eye at the scene as it happens more than one could count daily.

The man Porthos has his eyes on is currently occupied with a patron clutching onto a small purse of coins, eager that they can afford food for the day. Money is a dearth in the Court of Miracles so the only way to survive is to steal. Acts of thievery is what allows Porthos to obtain his needs for the day. It's what he's known and done all his life so far.

The client continues to slowly scan the food laid in front, wondering which they should choose to fill their bellies despite the frustrated merchant's countless pleas for them to hurry. Porthos does another double take, scanning his vicinity to make sure no passing stall owners will witness his act. He reaches a hand out over the crate of carrots stored behind the merchant and quickly grabs as much as his small hands can carry. He swiftly turns to make his dash, a big smile blooms on his face at the certain success. His early celebration is short-lived when a hand grasps his arm during his escape.

"Where do you think you're going little dirt bag?" the merchant scorns.

He effortlessly lifts him off the ground and Porthos growls, thrashing about in a futile attempt to break free from the man's grip. He finds kicking in the lower groin has always been a very effective method for him, but the vendor doesn't allow that to happen as he swiftly swipes back his stolen goods and throws Porthos onto the ground.

He yelps as he lands hard against the dirt road, his face and body scraping across the rough surface. For once, some actually glance towards the scuffle created by the merchant. But only a glance, nothing more.

Having faced situations like this many times, Porthos resiliently pulls himself up from the ground and glares angrily at the merchant.

"Get out of here you worthless coloured brat," the man hisses.

Porthos' fists clench shut as quick as a triggered bear trap. Anger boils up in his system and he directs the energy all to his fists, ready to strike the man. The one thing Porthos cannot tolerate is to be referenced by his skin colour discriminately. He's beaten up many children who have called him "stupid coloured boy" or something of that likeness. But who he's facing now is not a child.

Considering his smaller stature and disadvantage in strength compared to that of an adult, Porthos knows there's no way he can get out of such a fight without getting himself half-killed. He scowls menacingly, angered not only at the man but also at the fact that he's too weak to give the man what he deserves. With one last forbidding glare, he swiftly snatches one of the carrots from the stand and sprints away from the premise.

"You little mongrel!" the vendor calls out as he runs after the boy, failing to notice the approach of another young lad further behind.

\-----------------

Aramis rubs at the bruise blooming across his cheek from yet another failed attempt at reaching his goal. His legs are sore and aching from all the running and his body lethargic from being thrown to the ground by angered merchants. It's already been the third time today that he's been unsuccessful at besting his target. Third times the charm doesn't really work now does it?

With his hands and pockets empty, Aramis huffs out a large sigh at the relinquishing thought that he'll have to go through another night on a empty stomach. As if on cue, his belly grumbles loudly, asking for attention to tend to its needs. It's been calling for days and Aramis doesn't have much to offer when the odds aren't in his favour. It's not only Aramis that is affected by this but his whole family suffers as well. A surmountable guilt washes over him whenever he returns home empty-handed, having nothing to present to his family. It's not like he's blamed or punished, but Aramis feels that it's his duty to bring something home everyday whether it's food, materials, or money. The lack of fulfillment in this role makes him feel like a failure.

A loud call breaks out from the side of the street and Aramis continues his walk of shame unfazed, taking only a glimpse at what's going on. Stuff like this happens all the time and it's no surprise to him that another merchant is yelling furiously at a run-away thief. He's personally faced the wrath three times already today.

Instead of seeing a child whiz past him with a bundle of food along with a vendor hot on their tail, he hears something - or more like someone - fall to the ground. Aramis raises his head at the commotion and sees a dark-skinned boy picking himself up from the dirt floor.

He fails to decipher what the man says after the boy gets up, but as he moves closer to the scene, he notices the few carrots in the man's hand and the boy standing defiantly - staring daggers at him. It looked like a showdown, but an extremely unfair one as always. Every encounter is like this for the kids here where the adults always win. So most children don't linger much longer after being caught. But this lad stands his ground and looks determined to destroy the man before him. His fists are balled together tightly and a burning hatred can be seen in his eyes. 

Aramis finds himself quickly admiring the boy's strength and ambition. There's something about the way he faces the man that makes him seem different from the others that he's seen.

The scene quickly changes when the boy breaks his stance and swipes a carrot before running off. What follows is an infuriated merchant chasing after the conniving thief. Aramis moves on his own accord and goes to grab some of the carrots from the man's vacant stand. But instead of running away from the scene, he cautiously trails the chase. 

After quite a bit of running, Aramis' legs start to tremble and his breathing grows ragged. He thought the man would have given up by now. It's not really worth this much running over a mere carrot. But he guesses the man didn't want to lose his dignity over a child.

Aramis flinches when a booming voice comes from a distance behind him. Others became aware of the call as well and suddenly they all surge towards the sound. Before Aramis can even determine what's happening, he gets swarmed and caught amongst the stampede of people. Aramis bites down on his lower lip in exasperation. He's going to lose his pursuit.

Utilizing his small body size as an advantage, he pushes and weaves his way around the legs of many people that seem desperate to get to the abrupt attention. There is finally a break amongst the large group and Aramis manages to pull himself out without tripping over his own feet. He scans his eyes rapidly around the sector for the victim and pursuer but they're no where to be seen. He huffs out a frustrated grumble, silently blaming the mob for his loss of sight on the pair. His mind cycles through a list of his common hiding spots and he darts towards the alley to his far left - hoping the path is also used often by the boy.

As he scurries into the shadowy lane, he runs into something and lands flat on his arse. Aramis blinks in confusion from the unexpected road block and looks up.

"'ey! Watch where you're goin' scamp," the man jeers and kicks him as he stomps back down the street with a carrot in hand, annoyed and angered. Aramis swiftly picks himself up and notices further down the alley is the boy he's been searching for - sitting on the ground and rubbing the back of his head. He hurries over to him and offers his hand.

Clearly still dazed from the hit, it takes a little while before the lad looks up at him and accept his proffered hand. "Thanks," he says with a small smile.

The boy is probably around the same age as him, but he's a little taller and larger. A layer of dirt is sprinkled across his short, black, curly hair from the scuffle. A bruise is starting to grow on his cheek and a small cut adorns his forehead.

Aramis frowns and points to the boy's head. "You've got yourself a cut on your forehead," he states worriedly.

Not seeming to having even noticed the injury, the lad glances up and automatically touches his forehead, causing himself to wince from the contact. Aramis fishes into his pocket and brings out a small bundle of cloth. It's something he always carry with him - a substitute as bandages to patch himself up since he gets injured much too often.

Aramis unravels it, straightens it out and ties the cloth around the boy's wound. "There. Now it won't get infected," he says with a smile. The young boy looks at him for a moment, seemingly puzzled but the expression quickly changes into a grateful grin before Aramis gets the chance to even wonder why he was puzzled. "Thank you for your help umm..." he trails off as he raises his brow.

It takes Aramis a second to realise that the boy is asking for his name. "I'm... Aramis," he stammers and mentally kicks himself for sounding like a blundering idiot while stating his name.

The lad chuckles at his slight stumble and Aramis feels his cheeks warm up in embarassment. "I'm Porthos. Thank you for your help, Aramis," he replies with a smile and stretches his hand out, which Aramis claims with a light shake.

"No problem," he smirks. "We all gotta help each other out around here."

Porthos' mouth goes into a thin line. "Yeah, survivin' alone is tough."

Aramis' expression quickly turns solemn at his change in tone. He's not sure if he had just misinterpreted the boy's words, but has he been surviving alone all this time? With no family or anyone to help him? Aramis is lucky to have some family members and has had a few kids help him out here and there when he was in a troubling conflict. But why has no one helped out Porthos?

Aramis dives his hand into his pocket so swiftly that it startled Porthos from the abrupt movement. "I came to bring you these," he announces, bringing Porthos' hand up and placing the carrots into his palm. "Saw that merchant giving you a rough time so I swiped some of the food for you."

Porthos immediately pushes the carrots back into his hand. "No no no. Those are yours. I'll be fine," he retorts, unwilling to accept the food. Right then, Porthos' stomach decides to make a grand entrance with a growl, causing a short awkward pause between them.

"Your stomach clearly says otherwise." Aramis addresses with a chuckle. "Here, we can share them," he shoves a few carrots into Porthos' hand and seats himself on one of the crates piled against the wall.

Porthos doesn't budge and instead stares blankly down at the food in his palm as if he's never seen carrots before.

Many thoughts and questions float around in his mind. Why did Aramis help him? He clearly could have taken all the food at the stand while the man was distracted chasing after him. That's what most kids would have done. Heck, that's what he may have done too. So why didn't Aramis do the same?

He looks towards Aramis, observing the boy's figure. His hair is long, probably around shoulder length, but it's messy and the sides of his hair curl up like whiskers. His clothes are dirty, ragged and torn - just like his own - except there are some areas on his shirt that indicate there was some patching done. Bruises can be seen on his knees through one of the torn areas of his pants. His eyes move back up to Aramis' face where there are also bruises present, slowly turning a nice shade of purple and red across his cheek. 

He frowns, still unable to figure out why Aramis helped him when clearly he's not in the greatest state as well. It's already hard enough to fend for oneself against an adult yet alone have the time to assist another. Here in the Court of Miracles, you either win the fight and manage to live another day or you lose and get smacked upside down, going home with nothing on your plate. This is how you survive. It's not exactly a court filled with miracles as its name calls it.

"What's wrong?" Aramis asks with a raised brow, his voice laced with concern for his well-being.

"Why did you help me...?" Porthos responds, nearly at a whisper. "I mean... it's not 'hat I don't want your help..." he adds in promptly, raising a hand to indicate no offense is meant after realising how rude he must have sounded. "It's just 'hat... no one helps someone of my kind..." his voice slowly trails off.

A bemused expression emerges on Aramis' face at the words. Porthos isn't making any sense. What does he mean by his kind...? He's not any different than himself. He looks like any other child on the street, running around trying to find and salvage any food they can. The thought brings about a sudden awareness of a fact that he was oblivious to but others weren't.

He places the carrots aside and rises from his seat, walking the short distance between him and Porthos. The boy avoids eye contact, keeping his attention on the dirt road. "I wanted to help you. I don't see you any differently than myself," Aramis says in a honest voice.

He can't even imagine how many encounters Porthos had to face with such discrimination. It's sickening that people would even see Porthos differently and avoid him just because he's a person of colour. Aramis vows that he would never be that kind of person.

Aramis turns back to the crates and plumps down on one of the more stable boxes, patting the seat beside him as an invitation for Porthos to join him. He seemed reluctant - based on his stillness and Aramis frowns, afraid that he might have made things worse with bringing up the touchy topic. Before he gets the chance to apologise, Porthos' expression turns into a small smile and he steps forward to claim the seat. Aramis lets out a large inner sigh of relief and a smile appears on his face as he hands him the carrots.

Porthos watches as Aramis happily crunches away at the food in large bites. Porthos looks down at the carrots Aramis has passed him. He wants to argue that Aramis' words are fake. Empty words said just to make him feel better about who he is. He's always been cautious around people and anything in general. You never know who or what someone really is. Even if you believe you know them well. But why does he have this gut feeling that Aramis is someone he can easily trust?

What Aramis said to him is something he's never heard from a stranger. It's always been the opposite, usually stated through silence and disgusted glares. He'd get bullied and beaten for the colour of his skin; being told to go back to where he belongs or go die. People would talk behind his back, mumbling insults that they thought went unheard. He's never had any friends - mainly because of his instinctual nature to live in caution but also because no one wanted to be his friend. No one cared about him.

His heart tugs at him desperately to have faith and befriend Aramis. During the short time he's been with him, the boy has done none of what others have done. He's been kind, helpful, and considerate in every way; acting with an attitude that is not influenced by anything or anyone. And that's the most significant aspect which resonates in Porthos' mind.

He cares.

Aramis cares about him.

"Porthos?" The voice breaks him out of his reverie and he turns to Aramis. "Are you alright? You look shocked," he asks in worry and scoots closer to him. Porthos flinches, his instinct telling him to dodge when there's any movement near him. Aramis quickly backs away, his face riddled with guilt at his sudden approach.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he apologises. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay my friend," his voice going into a solemn whisper.

Porthos scrunches his brows and looks at Aramis incredulously. "Your friend?" he asks. "You consider me as a...friend?"

"Yeah, I do. I want to be your friend," Aramis replies with a softhearted smile. "Unless that's not what you want..." the joyful look is short-lived and diminishes in a flash.

Porthos' heart nearly does a flip at the first words, but it stumbles and fails the landing once he hears the latter sentence. "No, no! That is what I want!" he clarifies immediately. "I was just..." he pauses, "surprised 'hat you'd wanted to be my friend," he adds. "No one else has ever wanted to..." he looks down before trailing off. 

Nothing but the rhythmic steps of civilians walking in the streets, the bustling sounds of conversations, construction, and advertising merchants can be heard afterwards. The prolonged silence between them makes each passing moment more and more unsettling.

It's Aramis who makes the first move. Being wary and cautious, he scoots over to Porthos and closes the gap between them. This time he doesn't flinch, unfazed as he continues to stare at the ground as if the rugged surface can give him all his answers.

Aramis places a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezes, bringing Porthos' attention to him. "You have a friend now and I swear to God that I'll never leave you. Pinky promise," he gives him a bright, genuine grin as he offers his hand with a hooked pinky.

Porthos considers the offered hand between them before looking up at Aramis - who has a wide grin plastered on his face. A large smile spreads across Porthos' face and he links his pinky with Aramis' with a small shake.

"I'll be keepin' you on 'hat promise."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!


End file.
